


coffee stain

by emilieee



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Identity Reveal, Life Swap, Mutual Pining, adrienette - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilieee/pseuds/emilieee
Summary: When Adrien Agreste, klutz extraordinaire, spills coffee over Marinette Dupain-Cheng, he certainly hadn't expected it to lead to him finding out her identity.Some things may be less coincidental than they look, it seems.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 43
Kudos: 362





	coffee stain

**Author's Note:**

> life swap/reverse crush fic! it's 2.5k longer than the projected length, i hate myself

Contrary to popular belief, late night photoshoots are better than the ones that happen in the middle of the day. And even more contrary to common belief, having the constant excuse to miss out classes isn’t as great as it’s made out to be. But at the end of the day, middle-of-the-day-photoshoots and late-night photoshoots still share one thing in common: they suck. 

Marinette’s practically falling asleep on her feet when the photographer finally announces the wrap up, and even a few splashes of water to her face doesn’t do much to combat the fatigue. She changes into more comfortable clothing, washes the makeup off, and drags herself off to the car. 

Halfway through the quiet drive home, her phone chimes. Marinette blinks down at the screen. 

**_Adrien Agreste, 11:34 PM_ **

oh my fhasklfh u will not BELIEVE what just happened ?? 

Her exhaustion falters to make way for a tired smile. Adrien’s texts often come sporadically, but strangely at the right moments: when she’s tired from a long photoshoot; when she’s frustrated with her mother’s absence; when Plagg is being an absolute  _ pain in the butt.  _ Which he is right now, demanding for food in a worrisomely loud whisper from her pocket. Marinette pushes his head out of view and moves to reply. 

**_Me, 11:35 PM_ **

What happened?

**_Adrien Agreste, 11:35 PM_ **

my dad told my mom she wouldn’t dare dump a bowl of flour on him and she did and now our kitchen is in RUINS. please help me i’m supposed to pick a side and i just need to finish the homework for today ahhasdfh im running on six cups of coffee and two hours of sleep ! im gonna start hallucinating soon mb i alr am 

Marinette has to stifle her laugh, but it’s obvious enough because she catches the driver glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She bites her lip to compose herself before typing her reply. 

**_Me, 11:36 PM_ **

Two hours counting the time you slept in class today? 

**_Adrien Agreste, 11:36 PM_ **

U H O K AY listen i didn’t fall asleep i was just closing my eyes 

She considers her next sentence very carefully. Then, Marinette decides to add,  _ you were drooling.  _

The typing bubble appears, disappears, then appears again. When his text finally sends, it’s nothing but a jumble of keyboard spasms. 

Marinette is only a little more successful in stifling her laugh this time. 

***

Adrien Agreste has gorgeous blonde hair and even prettier green eyes, but he’s not the person Marinette’s in love with. Definitely not. It’s not him. 

(Although sometimes she wishes it were him.) 

When she walks into the classroom the next morning, he’s draped over his desk, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand, dozing off with half of his homework assignments on his face. 

Nino glances up at her when she enters and mouths,  _ All nighter.  _

_ Again?  _ she mouths back. 

He nods.  _ Watch this.  _

Marinette does, amused as Nino deftly leans closer to Adrien. He whispers something that Marinette can’t hear, and Adrien shoots upwards so fast that Marinette feels whiplash just from  _ watching  _ him. “I didn’t—” Adrien begins, and the sudden movement promptly sends the papers scattering and his coffee toppling over. 

The bad news: Marinette is wearing white and in the splash zone. 

The good news? None, really. At least the coffee isn’t hot. 

She ends up with a coffee mark down the side of her skirt, ugly and noticeable and probably stained permanently.

Adrien gapes at her with horror written all across his features. He looks too shell-shocked to formulate any words, because he opens his mouth, snaps it shut, then repeats. 

“Uh,” Marinette manages. “It’s okay, really—” 

“Oh my  _ gosh,”  _ Adrien blurts. “I am so, so sorry—I didn’t mean to do that and you’re wearing  _ white!  _ I mean, it would’ve been bad either way no matter what colour you’re wearing but this was my fault and…I’m  _ so  _ sorry, Marinette.”

She shifts at the apologies, a little uncomfortable by the sheer quantity of them. “It’s just a stain,” Marinette tries to reassure, because it’s true—it’s just a skirt that she probably has more of in the back of her closet. 

Adrien looks genuinely distressed. “I’m so sorry. There’s still ten minutes before class, and I can try to help you wash it off, or—” He clamps his mouth together. “Um. You can probably scrub some of the stain off.” 

Nino appears to be having the time of his life next to Adrien, because his face is red from trying to hold in his laughter. Marinette shoots him a look before she attempts to smile at Adrien, if only to make him feel a little better. “You can come help if you want?” she offers. 

His face turns as red as Nino’s, but he nods. 

Two minutes later, they’ve somehow ended up in the washroom, with Adrien handing Marinette paper towels as she scrubs the stain as best she can with soap and water. It’s enough to lighten the colour, but it doesn’t change the fact that it looks painfully obvious against the white fabric no matter how hard Marinette scrubs. At least it  _ looks  _ like a coffee stain, from the positioning to the colour.

Could’ve been worse. 

“Thanks,” she tells Adrien, who still looks dejected as he hands her another paper towel for Marinette to dry her skirt with. “You didn’t have to.” 

“I spilled coffee over you,” he retorts, then seems to wince a bit at his own tone of voice. “I  _ did  _ have to, Marinette. Anyway, here.” 

She has no clue what he’s talking about until he starts shrugging off the sweater he’s wearing. It only connects fully when Adrien has his arm extended, a look of determination written on his face. 

Marinette waves her hands when his intentions finally click. “I can’t. You’ll be cold for the rest of the day—I can’t possibly.” 

“It’s long enough to cover the stain,” he points out. “I’m certain I won’t be cold. Just…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Let me have this one?” 

Marinette gives the jacket another look, her resolve wavering at the pleading look on Adrien’s face. “It’ll make me feel better?” he offers, and that’s the last straw and Marinette takes it from his fingers. 

“Fine,” she relents.

It’s criminal how his face lights up like so. Awfully familiar, too, in a way she can’t point a finger on. At any rate, his sweater is still warm when she threads her hands through the sleeves and there’s a faint but pleasant smell to it—is it the smell of the bakery? His cologne? The scent isn’t overbearing or artificial and the material is soft and woolen against her arms, distracting her enough that Marinette doesn’t even realize how it covers the coffee stain perfectly until Adrien points it out to her. 

“Oh,” she says when she glances down. “Yeah! You’re right. Thanks, Adrien.” 

Before he can reply, there’s the shrill ringing of the bell that has both of them starting in alarm. Adrien straightens from a slightly slouched position, eyes wide. “We’d better get back,” he says, “Ms. Bustier’s already warned me about being late—I don’t want to be again when I’m actually  _ not  _ this time. C’mon.” 

He makes a grab for her hand, then comes to some sort of epiphany when his fingers wrap around hers. Marinette blinks in confusion as his face promptly reddens once more before he drops her hand like having touched a hot stove. “Let’s go!” Adrien exclaims (at a much louder volume than necessary, really), making a sharp beeline for the door. 

Marinette blinks off her own surprise and tucks her hand into the pockets of Adrien’s sweater. 

(Her face feels warm because the sweater is warm, of course. No other reason for it to be.) 

***

It’s a good thing Adrien sits in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng in class, or else he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else other than her. Be it as it may, focus is still hard because she’s right behind him wearing his hoodie and he’d  _ grabbed her hand—ohmygoshIgrabbedherhand— _ and Nino doesn't make life easier with his teasing. 

Adrien is in a whole other world than Ms. Bustier’s math formula when Nino slides over the fourth note of the day. 

_ Close your mouth, you’re drooling.  _

Adrien jolts, wipes at his mouth, only for the back of his hand to come away dry. He glares at Nino.  _ Am not,  _ he writes back. 

Nino sends him a shit-eating grin before returning to his paper, and Adrien, trying to pay attention for the sake of his grades, starts to absentmindedly jot down the remaining notes from the blackboard. 

***

The akuma attack is sudden, but all akuma attacks are sudden, so it hardly means anything. But the damage—and trauma—it had wreaked was enough for the school to cancel the remainder of classes for the day, so Adrien ends up sitting next to Lady Noire on the rooftop as she swings her legs and eats a sandwich a kind passerby had given her after he’d purified the akuma. 

He really ought to get back home. After his father had come into his room only to find him missing and a giant plushie replacing him on the bed, Adrien had been grounded for a month—he was to come home as soon as school ended, and any sort of sneaking out would put an end to any chance of future freedom. It wasn’t like he could bring himself to bring Gabriel Agreste. He probably would’ve done the same thing if he’d been in his father’s place. Still, being grounded  _ sucks.  _

Then again, what he hears from Marinette is much, much worse so Adrien thinks he probably isn’t in any place to complain. 

Lady Noire chews thoughtfully on her sandwich. At this point, Adrien’s come to the conclusion that she’s from the same school as him—there are too many coincidences that match up for her  _ not  _ to be. But the school still has a variety of people who could be Lady Noire, and for his sake (and hers), he doesn’t think about it. 

Or at least, he tries. After all,  _ he  _ was the one who shut her down so many times when she’d teased for his identity. It’s unfair to wonder now, yet wonder Adrien does; he looks at her with her chin propped in her palms and the wind tugging at her hair and the thoughtful expression on her face—and wonders who it is underneath all of that. Who teases and laughs and gets on his nerves almost everyday, yet makes his heart plummet down, down, down every time she throws herself into danger for him? 

Even if he  _ can  _ know, Adrien isn’t sure if he deserves to, after all this time. 

Lady Noire finishes her sandwich and turns back to him. “You’re staring at me,” she says, always in that blunt way of hers. 

Adrien glances away. “I’m looking at the city, not you.” 

“That’s a terrible lie if I’ve ever seen one,” she shoots back, then stretches leisurely. “Ugh, I’m still hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.” 

Adrien stiffens a little at the mention of  _ lunch;  _ did he see her today, during lunchtime? Have they walked past each other in the halls yet never known? Have they talked to each other? Each thought sends him deeper into a spiral of confusion until Lady Noire waves her hand in front of his face. 

“Uh, still with me here?” She’s holding a cloth bag in her arms, one that’s labeled  _ reduce, reuse, recycle.  _ Common enough not to give away any hints about her identity. “Did you hear me?” 

Adrien shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and adds, “No, sorry.”    


She lets out a mock-exasperated huff and gives him arm a little tug. “I said, let’s get dinner! I know a  _ really  _ good udon shop around here, and I’m really hungry and craving something hot right now. We can get take-out or something and eat it up here.  _ Pleeease _ ?” 

Adrien looks at her once more;  _ really  _ looks at her. She’s grinning bright and easy and the look in her eyes has become harder and harder to say  _ no  _ to, and the answer comes automatic this time, before he can think clearly. “Alright,” he agrees, and even if his father were to ground him for life, the resulting smile on Lady Noire’s face is truly worth it. 

***

Paris gapes at their superheroes getting udon, but Adrien has gotten used to handling the attention from crowds during his six months with the Ladybug Miraculous. His first interaction with the press hadn’t left him the best of memories, but now he learns to politely turn them down when they pry too much, or carefully divert the topic to somewhere safer. 

Lady Noire, on the other hand, has always been good at dealing with the press since day one. Not just the press—fans, too. She seems to know exactly what to say to children, signs autographs like she’s spent years practicing, and has a six sense for cameras: she knows every time there’s one trained on them. Most of the time, Adrien lets her deal with them.

However, today  _ he’s  _ entertaining the press as she gets their food packed up. 

It’s a little while later that Lady Noire exits the shop holding two plastic bags. She waves at Adrien, and he scrambles away from the reporters as fast as possible with a short farewell. 

“Wait—” Nadja Chamack calls, but they’re both swinging away before they can be peppered with other questions. 

They settle on another rooftop as Lady Noire starts hurriedly unpacking the takeout boxes. It’s only then that Adrien realizes she’s no longer wearing her suit. Or, more accurately, she’s wearing something  _ over  _ her suit. 

It’s a simple hoodie; common, too. He’s seen many other people wear it around just in the school, so the fact that she’s wearing the sweater should not mean anything at all. 

Except— _ except  _ Adrien recognizes the bleach stain on the cuff of the right sleeve—and he knows it as the exact sweater he gave Marinette. The sleeves are a little worn at the ends with threads falling loose; there’s a small, almost miniscule rip on the other arm that you won’t see unless you know exactly where to look. All details that would’ve flown right over his head if it hadn’t been his favourite hoodie for two years, worn so much that his father made fun of him every time he saw him in it. 

Lady Noire has already unpacked both of their udon noodles, shaving the splinters from her chopsticks with a sharp claw. Adrien’s head is spinning when she looks up at him, an eyebrow raised. “Are you going to eat?” she asks. “Because if you don’t, I’ll eat yours. Seriously.” 

“I—um, yeah.” He reaches for his own styrofoam box, but his mind isn’t on the food at all. Unaware of his dilemma, she digs her chopsticks into the noodles. 

She must be at least halfway through her bowl of noodles when Adrien still hasn’t moved. It’s then that she pauses to frown at him. “I was joking about eating yours, but… are you okay? You’re looking at me really, really weirdly.” 

“I’ve… never seen you wear something over the suit,” is what makes it past his mouth, and Adrien winces when she pauses halfway through chewing and gives him a skeptical look that’s always been typical of her. For all of Lady Noire’s talk of liking him, he’s thankful that she doesn’t treat him like—well, some sort of breakable pottery—because she’s blunt when she has to, and she doesn’t elevate everything he does to a ridiculous level. “It’s… uh, a nice hoodie?” 

Maybe Marinette knows Lady Noire. Or maybe his partner snatched the hoodie right out of the classroom around the time the akuma attack happened because Marinette had dropped it in the panic. Anything is possible, of course, and Adrien tries to keep his mind away from entertaining the last possibility. It’s a coincidence. Or a problem that has a logical explanation. He’s good at logical explanations. 

Lady Noire returns to eating her noodles but not before she sends him another half-confused half-amused look, giving her sleeve a little tug. “It’s cold today,” is the explanation she offers, “a friend let me borrow it after something happened this morning. I’ll let him know that it’s a nice hoodie, though.” 

Adrien feels like the air was punched right out of his lungs. 

It’s been weeks, or perhaps months, of clues that have been getting closer and closer to one conclusion, which Adrien has willfully ignored until now. He’d be lying to say that he hadn’t considered the possibility of Marinette being Lady Noire: they have the same hair colour and the same eye colour and are roughly around the same height, but that’s where the similarities seem to end. Marinette is polite and rather quiet and somewhat reserved around new people; Lady Noire is blunt and relatively talkative and teases him like it’s second nature to breathing. So Adrien has taken that possibility, then locked it right up and refused to entertain it any longer. 

Except now, it seems, because the door is opened again against his will, and he’s once again faced with the very real possibility that Marinette Dupain-Cheng might be his partner. The very girl he had waxed poetic about to Tikki every night before bed was, like some silly cosmic joke, the same one he had rejected in favour of… the same person? 

“Lady Noire,” Adrien croaks, because that’s the loudest volume his voice will allow him to adopt. 

“Are you  _ actually  _ going to give me your udon?” she asks. “I mean, I can probably eat yours if you can’t finish…” 

“What—no! I just—”  _ Should I even tell her? Is it worth pushing? What if I’m wrong? What if I’m right? What if what if whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif— _

“You look pale.” She leans in closer, and Adrien blinks at the proximity. Blue eyes peer curiously at him, and Adrien can’t stop thinking about how he had  _ never realized  _ that’s the same colour Marinette’s eyes are—which is, quite frankly, ridiculous because he knows too many details about Marinette by heart. “Seriously, you’re kind of scaring me now. What’s wrong?” 

Adrien takes a deep breath. This will be hard to explain; perhaps even impossible. The words to say are jumbled and nonsensical on the tip of his tongue, and his brain makes even less sense. 

“I—” he begins, and she looks at him expectantly. 

His last piece of resolve crumbles at the look, because it’s the  _ exact  _ expression he sees on Marinette when she waits for him to speak as he stumbles over the simplest of words.  _ You are the verbal embodiment of typos,  _ Nino had once told him, and he hadn’t been wrong. Yet Marinette had exercised utmost patience, expectant but not restless, blinking earnestly and just  _ waiting.  _

“Are you Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” It doesn’t come out as a question. It’s rushed and uncertain and Adrien thinks that he can quite literally feel his soul leave his body when he says it, but at least it’s comprehensive. 

She answers with a statement-question as well. “What.” 

… somewhat comprehensive, that is. 

But Adrien has reached the end of his wits, and nothing else comes out and he simply  _ waits  _ as well; waits for the denial or the laughter or the  _ you’re dead wrong, where did you come to that conclusion?  _ But Lady Noire just stares at him and doesn’t make a  _ sound,  _ and that’s confirmation enough for Adrien. 

“Oh,” she finally says in a small, small voice. “I—that’s not good, is it?” 

It’s not the reaction Adrien would’ve expected, it’s not the one he  _ wants,  _ either. But it’s the one that happens, and it leaves them both floundering in deep waters of an unfamiliar situation. 

Lady Noire stares hard at him. Adrien wonders if his inability to speak is due to the fact that he’s absolutely shellshocked or if it’s because he now knows who’s underneath the suit and thus is having trouble forming words because it’s a common occurrence around her. The former option is much more merciful. 

“How did you know?” Lady Noire—Marinette—asks. “I didn’t mean to give myself away, I swear. I took it seriously when you said you didn’t want us to reveal our identities, and I meant to respect that, really.” The ears on her head droop slightly. “Does this… does this mean I have to return my Miraculous?” 

Adrien’s tongue feels too thick to be in his mouth, but after he shakes his head, he manages out, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Then how?”    


It’s then that Adrien realizes he’s still clutching his now-cold bowl of udon. He sets it down gingerly. “Your hoodie.” 

“My hoodie?” Lady Noire looks down, her eyebrows scrunching. “But… it’s not even mine.” 

“That’s kinda the point,” he replies weakly. “It’s mine.” 

She drops her bowl of udon. 

There’s enough soup left in the bowl for it to slosh slightly onto his suit and it also knocks over  _ his  _ bowl, but the material causes any liquid to drip right off. She gapes at him, jaw slack and eyes like saucers. Adrien’s beginning to wonder if this is how he should’ve sprung the news on her when she manages out, “ _ Adrien?”  _

He offers her a weak smile that he’s pretty sure wavers on the edges. “Surprise?” 

“Oh my gosh.” The thin layer of shocked calm has now officially melted to give way to… panic? Excitement? “Adrien. You’re  _ Adrien. You’re Adrien.”  _

Adrien’s own brain is probably a pile of slush, but in the hopes of making it easier for her, he says, “Tikki, spots off.” 

His transformation falls in a flash of red, and it soon appears that Marinette is  _ more  _ in shock. 

Marinette, of course. The name mixes in his head until for some reason it’s  _ right.  _ Strange and new but  _ right.  _ And perhaps it isn’t even  _ new;  _ perhaps this has made sense long ago but he had just purposefully turned a blind eye. Now, it’s more clear than ever, and Adrien wonders how he had missed something so obvious _.  _

“Plagg, claws in.” 

“Mari, we need to talk about—” Plagg breaks off when he sees Adrien. He then looks at Tikki. “Uh. What’s happening this time?” 

Tikki flies over and snatches him up by the tail. “Let’s give these two some space,” she tells him in a hushed whisper, and Adrien Agreste is left standing in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who is still wearing his sweater over the coffee stain. 

She stares at him in a way that feels like it bores holes right through his head, and Adrien struggles to keep his expression schooled. What do they say now? He’d always imagined to find out her identity in the most dramatic way possible; this is far from. A sweater: no more, no less. 

But just like everything else, it’s strange but right. That thought in itself gives him enough courage to speak up. “I wouldn’t have figured it out if it hadn’t been my hoodie, you know.” 

Marinette’s eyes are still wide when she looks at him, unreadable. “You’re… I saw you trip over this air during lunchtime. Yet you…” 

Adrien’s face warms. He remembers that; he also remembers her asking if he’d been okay. “Somehow I swing around Paris and fight akumas and still stay in one piece,” he concludes for her. “Yeah, it surprises me too.” 

She makes a choked noise, and it takes Adrien a couple of seconds to realize that she’s actually laughing. “This is crazy.” 

“Crazy,” he agrees. “Super, super crazy but also… a good kind of crazy.” 

“A good kind,” Marinette echoes. “Really?” 

_ The girl I like is also the one who likes me and has confessed to me and I might’ve ruined my chances but at least I know— _

“Really,” Adrien reaffirms. “Really really.” 

She smiles—no,  _ beams.  _ As Lady Noire or Marinette Dupain-Cheng, her smiles are there but not quite. Marinette is always smiling in some way, but it’s almost like a well-practiced art. Lady Noire’s serious, and when she’s not, she’s smirking in that teasing sort of way that she  _ knows  _ gets on his nerves. But this is bright and open and rare as both Marinette and Lady Noire, and the smile creeps deep, deep down and and wraps around his chest and tightens his breath in a way that’s not-so-terrible. 

“Adrien,” she says at last, composing herself much quicker than him. “I’m hoping this won’t make things awkward, but you do know I like you, right? And that still stands right now. I hope… well, I know you like someone else and that’s fine. I just wanted to let you know.” 

“You like me after knowing who I am?” he can’t help but ask. 

The look Marinette gives him borders on slight confusion and more so disbelief. “Why… wouldn’t I? I find out you’re just as amazing as a civilian—I don’t see where the problem is.” 

Adrien wonders why he’d never realized how similarly blunt Marinette and Lady Noire were. 

The girl in front of him straightens to her full height—not much, but still manages to look collected when doing so. “Anyway, what I said stands. I should probably start going back, though. My mother will notice I’m missing if I stay away for too long.” She frowns. “Oh, your sweater.” Marinette slips it over her head in one fluid movement and hands it to Adrien, who takes it from her instinctively, even if the rest of his body hasn’t quite caught up with his thoughts. “I think both of us will need some time to think about this—and sleep on it—so I think meeting up at a later date will be more beneficial for us. See you, Adrien. Just… think about what I said, yeah?” 

With that said, she picks up her bag and makes a move to leave. Adrien’s short-circuiting finally comes to a halt, and he has enough sense left in him to make a grab for her hand before she can make a move towards the door. 

“Wait.” The words tumble out of his mouth as if on their own accord. “Marinette, wait.” 

A short gust of wind tugs ghost fingers through her hair, and she shivers slightly. Adrien’s near-certain that his heart is pounding so hard that it’s going to burst right out of his ribcage, he’s not sure if he’s still breathing, and his palms are clammy. Somehow, he manages to make his mouth form words. 

“It was you,” he tells her, and the carefully schooled expression on her face disappears once more into confusion. “The girl I turned you—turned Lady Noire—down for. When I told you I liked someone else, it was  _ you.”  _

_ There. It’s out.  _ After months of tripping over his words  _ and  _ feet in front of Marinette, of forced “ _ I like you as a friend and that’s all!”  _ and an ever-growing list of embarrassing moments, it’s finally out. Maybe her confession has given him enough courage, or maybe it’s her identity. Or maybe it hasn’t, because Adrien still feels like a coward. 

Her response is a smile. Then it widens until the faint lift of the corner of her lips shows teeth, and Marinette asks, “It was  _ me?  _ You’re serious?” 

Adrien feels like he’s going to die, but he manages to nod to reassure her that he was, indeed, serious. 

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Marinette muses. “I mean, in the beginning, at least. I thought I made you uncomfortable. But this also seems like a pretty likely explanation.” 

“Likely?” Adrien sputters. “The whole class knows except you, I’m pretty sure. I’m honestly shocked you took all my panicked cover-ups at face value, and—” 

He’s cut off when Marinette leans forward on her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. It’s fleeting: there, then gone, even if a ghost of it lingers. 

“I know you’re going to stress about it and I probably am too,” she says, “but—” 

The shrill ringing of a phone cuts her off. Marinette’s eyes widen when she reaches into her bag to look at her phone, then winces. 

“It’s my bodyguard. He’s here to pick me up and I’m not there and I probably need to run. Um…” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ears, a nervous action he’s seen from her many a times. “We can talk about this tonight, though! Through the phone or we can meet up or… anything, really. I don’t mind. It’ll be nice to talk with, you know, all the cards between us, right?” 

“R-right.”  _ With all the cards between us.  _ “Yeah, it will.” 

Marinette offers him a smile that meets her eyes. “I’ll see you tonight, then, Adrien? I can come find you at the bakery if that’s okay with you.” 

His old habit of stumbling over words threatens to catch up, but Adrien manages to say, “It’s completely fine with me!” with only one slight hitch to his words. 

Marinette’s phone gives another shrill ring, and Adrien jumps a bit. “You should probably go,” he tells her, rather regrettably. “Don’t want to keep him waiting, right?” 

“I’ll go when you let go of my hand.” There’s a hint of cheek to her tone, and when Adrien drops her fingers like touching hot iron, he realizes from the grin that she’s just teasing. “See you tonight, Adrien.” 

She steps away from him, and Adrien catches her wrist yet again. 

Amusement dances across her face. Adrien’s own is bright red, surely, but he stuffs his sweater into her hands nonetheless. “You’ll be cold.” 

“So will you.” 

“Coffee stain.” 

“Fair.” Marinette tugs it over her head again. “I’ll return it tonight?” 

Adrien nods, watching as she waves over Plagg. Her kwami flies over and settles on her shoulder. “Bring croissants,” is the last thing she tells him before she disappears through the door, leaving Adrien gaping after her. 

It’s at least thirty seconds later when Tikki gives him a gentle pat on the cheek. “Close your mouth,” she suggests in a kind, knowing tone, “before you drool.”

Adrien snaps his mouth shut so hard his teeth rattle. 

Tikki indulges him with more polite silence as he stands on the rooftop and stares until the text tone gives a little chime. 

Adrien wouldn’t have even checked if Tikki hadn’t hauled the device out for him. “It’s Marinette,” she reminds him, and Adrien snatches it up. 

**_Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 3:02 PM_ **

Depending on my photoshoot, I’ll be there anytime between nine to ten, if that’s not too late. 

**_Me, 3:03 PM_ **

i don’t really sleep anyway though you already know that 

**_Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 3:03 PM_ **

You worry me sometimes. See you <3 

Adrien basically shoves the phone in Tikki’s face to show her the emoji, and she only laughs at him and gives him another cheek pat. 

Two bowls of spilled udon lay in front of them, cold and forgotten, and the wind picks up enough to make him shiver. 

But Adrien barely feels the chill, because everything is warm in the most lovely sense, and evening can’t come fast enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [e-milieeee!](https://e-milieeee.tumblr.com/)


End file.
